


Skinwalkers

by Uhtsceatha



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: A little bit of Solavellan at the end, Campfire Story, F/M, I'll probably add more fluff, Storytelling, spooky story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-02
Updated: 2015-06-02
Packaged: 2018-04-02 11:43:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4058734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Uhtsceatha/pseuds/Uhtsceatha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dalla tells a spooky story that mildly backfires.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Skinwalkers

Dalla was tired.

 

Hell, everyone was tired. They had spent their day traipsing through the forest, tripping over roots, taking care of the Red Templars, and being sideswiped by a giant or two. The party was forced to make camp in the ass end of the Emerald Graves, and as much as Dalla loved the forest, she longed for her soft shem bed and a cup of Bull’s hot cocoa. 

“You sure you didn’t bring any?” Dalla asked Bull as she piled an armful of dry wood next to the fire and all but collapsed on the ground between him and Dorian.

“Sorry Boss,” Bull said. “I did bring this, though.” He smirked and tossed her a wineskin. 

She caught it, raising an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Just open it.”

Dalla popped the cork, and when the smell of the wineskin’s contents hit her, her face contorted into a deep scowl.

“You brought fucking Dragon’s Piss?”

“You’ve still got some giant’s blood on your scarf, Boss.”

Dalla inhaled deeply before throwing back her head and drinking as much of the liquor as she could without gagging. 

“I do believe that it would be wise to keep our wits about us, as secluded as we are here,” Solas said. He wore his usual mask of apostate hobo indifference, but Dalla noticed the corners of his lips tug his mouth down into a slight frown. 

“If our tiny Dalish friend has no qualms about drinking ourselves silly in the middle of the forest, I say we drink ourselves silly. Maker knows even you could use a drink after the day we’ve had, Solas.” Dorian plucked the wineskin from Dalla’s hands and took a swig, then offered it to Solas. 

“Yeah, everything’s cool,” Dalla said, scooting towards Dorian and resting her head on his shoulder. “Except for, you know. The skinwalkers.”

“You mean shapeshifters?” Solas snorted. He held the wineskin to his lips a moment before speaking. “Such an old school of magic would provoke fear amongst the Dalish, I suppose.”

Dalla rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. “No, hahren, not just shapeshifters. I’m surprised that, in all of your journeys across the fade, you’ve never heard a story that every Dalish child knows. Do you want me to go get my Babae so he can tell it like he told me?” She smirked as Solas pulled his lips into a thin, straight line and then motioned for her to continue. Dalla rolled her shoulders and straightened her back. She tucked her legs beneath her and, after settling into her seat in the dirt, spoke again, smooth and strong, in her best imitation of her father’s voice. 

“There are some Dalish keepers who are shapeshifters, yes. But for some, no amount of power is enough. They turn to blood-magic, kill and consume the flesh and blood of their lethallin in their lust for glory, and it is those keepers who become the skinwalkers.

“They become sick with a hunger they can never satisfy. Their skin grows tight across their bones and their eyes sink into their skulls until there is nothing but black. They know nothing but their desire for elvhen flesh.

“They are crafty and can transform into animals to hunt their prey, just as any shapeshifter could, but the skinwalkers, their favorite method of hunting is stealing faces. You steal the face of a man’s wife and call to him, lure him from the clan and into the forest -- he practically lays out his meat for you on a silver platter.

“My Babae, when he was little, never wanted to believe the stories. He was a boy and wanted to be tough. He would laugh at the stories of the skin-walkers, would go into the forest and make noises to scare all of the other children. The girls of the clan were tired of being scared by him, and so one day, they dared him to go deep into the forest and camp through the night. 

“If he did not believe in the skinwalkers, there was nothing to be afraid of. They said that if he made it through the night, they would each give him a kiss.

“So Babae, of course, along with two of his bravest and stupidest friends, headed out deep into the forest at sunset. They found a small clearing and set up a fire, eating dried meat and telling ghost stories. 

“As night came and the forest grew dark, they began to hear noises in the trees.

“Babae’s friend Mahanon was already starting to shake, and Babae laughed at him.

‘What are you afraid of, Maha? The nugs crawling in the underbrush?’

“His friend Thenar laughed as well.‘The only thing to fear about nugs is that we will hunt too many to eat!’

“‘Dhava ‘ma masa, dahn’direlan,’ Maha said. ‘It is the chill in the air. I am not scared.’

“They heard a shriek in the forest, and Maha jumped while Babae and Thenar nearly doubled over in laughter.

“‘You are scared of the foxes, now, Maha?’

“‘Nuva fen’harel pala masa sule’din!’”

Solas nearly choked on his drink and broke out into a fit of laughter, clutching at his sides and trying desperately to compose himself as his companions stared at him with open mouths and raised eyebrows.

“What, you think my story is funny, hahren?” Dalla snorted, a smile stretched wide across her face. 

“No, no, I just-” he cleared his throat and suppressed a chuckle -- “I never realized that the Dalish were so colorful with their profanities.”

“Shit, boss, now you gotta tell me what that means.” Iron Bull nudged her with his elbow and chuckled when she elbowed him back hard. 

Dalla hummed and chewed on her lip. “Ah, the best translation I can come up with is, ‘May the Dread Wolf fuck you in the ass until you die.’” 

Bull burst into uproarious laughter, and Solas struggled to maintain his composure. 

“And this is in a story your father told you?” Dorian asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“Well, I may have added the cursing in for the sake of realism. You know how boys are.”

“Uh-huh.” 

Dalla rolled her eyes. “Oh can I please just get on with the story?”

Dorian nodded, and Dalla shot the still-chucking Bull a failed attempt at a dirty look and then cleared her throat, once again lowering her voice.

“‘The noise was sudden and startled me. I do not fear anything that is in the forest,’ Maha said.

“A twig snapped close to the clearing, and all three of them jumped.

“A voice -- the voice of one of the girls who had dared them to spend the night in the forest -- called out to them. ‘Hello?’

“Babae and Thenar sighed with relief, but Maha’s eyes were wide and he began slowly backing away. 

“‘What are you doing out here?’ Babae said. ‘Come to give us our kisses early?’

“‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Come here and I will give them to you.’ 

“‘Come out of the forest and into the firelight!’ Thenar shouted. Babae looked at Maha and noticed that his skin was as pale as the moon and he began to worry. 

“‘Her voice,’ Maha whispered to Babae as he shook. And that is when Babae heard it, as the girl tried to goad them into the forest. Something was wrong with how she spoke, and it made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. The rhythm was off, the tone was flat -- it sounded more like an animal trying to mimic the sounds of speech than a little elvhen girl.

“Thenar was edging closer to the forest and Babae grabbed his arm and yanked him back towards the fire.

“‘Come here,’ Babae shouted, trying to ignore how his voice shook.

“The voice paused before saying, ‘Okay.’ 

“And something came from the forest and into the firelight.” Dalla stood and stretched her arms out before her; her head rolled to one side and her hip jutted out to the right, while her knees bent slightly inwards. She began to shuffle forward, and when she spoke, her voice was low and rough. “A something that wore the skin of a little elvhen girl stretched tight over gnarled bones, a something whose limbs jerked all wrong as it walked, a something with black holes for eyes.”

Dalla swore she heard Dorian squeak. She dropped her arms to her sides and sat back down beside him, choking back a giggle. 

“You okay?” she asked.

Dorian nodded and grabbed the wineskin from Solas. “Get on with it.”

Dalla took a breath to compose herself before continuing, lifting her head so the firelight cast flickering shadows across her face. 

“Babae and his friends screamed and ran as fast as they could, forgetting their bows and their packs in the clearing and sprinting through the dark forest, trying desperately to remember the way back to their clan, the pounding of their hearts almost loud enough to cover the sound of the something running after them.

“They burst into the clan’s camp screaming with tears streaming down their faces. They ran to the Keeper’s aravel and shook him, babbling nonsense until their mothers came to calm them down. There was nothing surrounding the camp but the silence of the forest, and the Keeper admonished my grandfather for telling such tales to the da’len. 

“The next morning, the parents of one of the girls in the clan came to the Keeper in tears. Their little girl had run off the night before, they said, off into the forest and had not come home. Many of the adults formed a search party and combed through the forest, but never found her. The clan mourned and the Keeper said that she must have been attacked and eaten by wolves, but Babae and his friends know what really happened to her. It was the same little girl whose skin the skinwalker had stolen.

“Even though he is now my clan’s Keeper, my Babae still swears that he was almost eaten by a skinwalker that night, and Maha and Thenar still tell this same story to da’len who want to be brave and wander the forest alone at night.

“Though many hahren will tell you that the skinwalkers are just stories, it is wise to be careful not to wander too far from camp, where voices lurk in the forest, where skinwalkers follow the sweet scent of elvhen flesh, stealing the skin of little girls and awaiting their next meal.

“Who knows, a skinwalker could be watching us right now from the trees, and we would not know it until it was too… late!”

Dalla shouted and grabbed Dorian’s shoulders, causing him to shriek and topple over. She nearly fell over as well, chest heaving with laughter, hands grasping at her sides. 

“You immeasurable ass!” Dorian said as he scrambled to his feet. “I don’t know why I put up with you.”

“It’s because you love me,” Dalla said, wiping tears from her eyes. “And because I’m fucking adorable.” 

“The cutest little shit to ever put an arrow between your eyes.” Iron Bull ruffled her hair with his hand. 

Dorian grunted and crossed his arms. “Next time you scare me like that you can’t blame me if I set you on fire.”

“Hot.” Dalla wiggled her eyebrows.

Scowling, Dorian threw the empty wineskin at her before retreating to his tent. 

“I do believe that we should all be off to bed,” Solas said as he stood. “I thank you for the lesson on Dalish superstition, lethallin. It was quite entertaining.”

“I was aiming for spooky,” Dalla said, “but, you know, entertaining works too.” Solas smiled at her and she tried to ignore the heat that rose in her cheeks. 

The heat intensified when Bull placed his hand on her shoulder and she jumped with a very undignified squeak. 

“You didn't scare yourself with that old story, did you, Boss?” he said. 

Dalla wanted to slap the smirk right off his face, but instead settled for lightly punching his arm. “You wish, Bull. But hey, if you get scared, my tent’s open and I love to cuddle.”

\---

As Dalla lay in her tent, thoughts of skinwalkers clawed their way into her mind. She had spent so much of her life in the forest, so many months out here on her own, and yet every sound was suddenly foreign and terrifying. Every time the wind blew through the trees she nearly jumped, every time a nug scurried through the underbrush she nearly screamed, and she practically started hyperventilating when she heard a wolf howl. 

Fuck this. She quickly gathered up her bedroll. She had always been one to preach the power of self-sustainability and the ability to be alone and blah blah blah, but tonight, she couldn’t give two shits about how cowardly she would look for not wanting to sleep alone. It was better to lose some dignity than have a heart attack in her tent. 

She crouched before the entrance, closing her eyes and taking a big breath before barreling from her tent and into the closest one she could find.

A very groggy Solas found her panting at the entrance to his tent, her bedroll tucked under one arm.

He propped himself up on his elbow, took one look at her and chuckled, then fell back down on his bedroll, gently resting his hands on his stomach. “Did you not say that your story was only meant to frighten children, da’len?”

Dalla thought of a number of witty comebacks, most of which utilized some form of the word “fuck,” but all she managed to push from her throat was a whimper.

Solas sighed. “If you are truly that frightened, you may sleep here for the night.” He slid to the far left side of the tent.

Dalla paused for a moment, biting her lip and running her free hand through her long, blonde, and rather disheveled hair, and then shuffled towards the space Solas had made for her. She quickly laid down her bedroll before curling up on her side as close to the edge of the tent as possible. 

She closed her eyes and wrapped her arms tightly around herself, and while she certainly felt safer in the company of a friend (and one who could conjure up lightning, at that), the noises of the forest still crept into her mind as she drifted off to the fade. A skinwalker stalked through her dreams, teeth gnashing and bones creaking, until she felt something shift -- a weight on her forehead, something cool and soothing, and then nothing but the void of sleep.


End file.
